


Hello stranger, I still love you.

by Silverinia



Category: The Good Fight (TV), The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Love, Minor Violence, all the angst really, separation fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 20:43:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17753174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverinia/pseuds/Silverinia
Summary: A small glimpse at New Year's Eve during the gap between The Good Wife and The Good Fight.





	Hello stranger, I still love you.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, hello there! Long time, no read.
> 
> Okay, first of all, there are so many references to specific episodes of both shows in this one, I just can't possibly write them all down up here. Please forgive my lazy ass.
> 
> I had this idea for a one-shot. Nobody asked for it, not even myself and I have no idea what's brought this on. But I began to write it down and suddenly it was like 10k words long. Oops. Dividing it into chapters made literally no sense though, so I just hope it's still readable...?
> 
> Also, honestly? I hated the separation-storyline so freaking much, so I don't even know why the hell I wrote this... It was so ooc for Kurt, I feel like they never actually really dealt with it and I don't know, I just don't like it.
> 
> So, uhm... enjoy this anyway? I don't know what I'm trying to say.
> 
> Also, please feel free to comment and leave kudos, I'm not opposed to that at all ;)

_-11:03 pm-_

  
Of all the times in which something like this could have happened, of course it had to be this night. The one night, where everyone was out to celebrate, when everyone was trapped in their own bubble of foolish and forced happiness, an emotion they were supposed to feel according to society, because it was the appropriate way to greet the new year. Fresh and carelessly.  
  
_New year, new me_ , was the way in which people around her voiced this kind of mindset. Especially now with the prospect of finally breaking the glass ceiling once and for all within the matter of the next twenty days of the election, everyone around her was tremendously excited to see what the year of 2017 would have in store for them.  
  
The streets were almost empty, cleared of any other living soul, and there was no cab in sight in the whole wide area. She was stranded and beyond distressed and there was only a single option left available for her to do to try and get away from here. From this place, those people and from _him_.  
  
_December 31_. She had always hated the winter. Cold and grey, icy and lonely. Winter had used to be different for quite a while but she could not go back there, not even within the line of her thoughts.  
  
_They_ could not go back. And the endless and draining spiral of thinking that always welcomed her back whenever her mind went to what had once been and to what could have been now, was something she wanted- needed- to spare herself from.  
  
She could not go there again. Not tonight, when she was standing here, her trembling thumb ghosting over the little green telephone icon behind his name, the view of the four letters that formed it blurred by the unshed tears that were stinging in her glassy blue eyes, the feeling sharpened by the cold wind that surrounded her.  
  
She could not go there, or she would only waste more time on second-guessing the choice that was not really hers to make, because there was no actual alternative to calling him for help.  
  
She could not go there. Or she would end up getting hurt again.

  
...

  
_-9:12 pm-_

  
He was late again.  
  
It was their third date and he had been supposed to pick her up at nine. And yet, here she was left, waiting.  
  
Diane sighed at the sight of her wristwatch, the second hand moving steadily from one stroke and over to the next, as though it was trying to provoke her by rubbing in his lateness, like salt into an open wound.  
  
She dropped her hand into her lap and evened out a non-existent wrinkle in the smooth fabric of her red cocktail dress. It was silent in her brownstone, so silent that she could hear the low ticking noises of her golden wristwatch. It was moments like these in which she missed her old pet dog the most.  
  
Justice had died six months prior. She had reached a high age for a terrier and she had lived a happy and comfortable life, but it was still hard on Diane. She missed the domestic routine the little dog had brought into her life, missed having someone greeting her happily at the front door when she would come home from the office at the end of the day. It was not the right time for her to get a new puppy and she doubted that any other dog could fill the hole that Justice had left anyway.  
  
But she missed the feeling of having someone who would be awaiting her at home, missed the life that she had brought into the house. It felt colder since she was gone. Cold and lonely.  
  
Diane breathed in deeply in annoyance, maybe even with a trace of anger. She hated unpunctuality. It bothered her and what bothered her even more, was that it managed to do this even though she had been expecting it. _Three time's a charm_ , as they said.  
  
Robert Wilson was a prosperous businessman. Likable and equally smug. From what she could tell after two- more or less- enjoyable dinners at ridiculously expensive haute cuisine restaurants, there was not a lot that he really liked in life, other than good-looking women, hearing the sound of his own voice and conversations that centered around himself.  
  
He was what she always would have identified as 'her type' up until a few years prior. A powerful man who knew who he was, successful, proud, handsome, cunning and attractive in a wall-street banker kind of way and also completely and utterly unamusing and replaceable.  
  
He was the kind of guy who's younger version she had used to date a lot once and with which she had used to picture herself in her youth when she had thought about the future, never spending too many thoughts on the consequences that a guy like that would have on her own lifestyle, plans and views regarding her career, general ideas regarding the future. He was the kind of guy her mother would have adored to see her getting married to and to have children with.  
  
The kind of guy a woman would be _lucky_ to have. Someone who would be in the position of earning enough money to easily be able to take financial care of the family on his own, so that the wife could stay at home to raise the kids and do the chores. Someone who could pay the bills for the white-fence, suburban one-family dwelling and for private schools and personal tutors and the daughter's ballet lessons and the son's soccer team and for the expensive jewellery for the wife that he would give her as an excuse for secretly sleeping with his assistant, salving his conscience and pretending that she did not know exactly what was going on, pretending that she did not smell the mistresses' perfume on him when he came home from the office or that she did not notice the pink lipstick stains on the collar of his white button-ups when she did the laundry.  
  
He was _that_ kind of a guy and the two of them were far from compatible.  
  
He was too much of a privileged chauvinist, she was too much of a liberal feminist. He did not have enough of an opinion for her liking, was too much of a smug people-pleaser, she was too bossy for his. He wanted peaceful dinners where she would listen silently to the exact same story about how he had built his firm from nothing but his million dollar heritage from his grandfather over and over again, pretending that she did not know the story already, while she wanted passionate discussions about things that really mattered in the world. It just did not fit.  
  
And if she were being honest with herself, she would know that it was not only the fact that they were a bad match that had bothered her about him from the very beginning. Robert could have been the man of her dreams and she would not have had any more of an interest in him.  
  
_He_ had taken that away from her. Because even after all the things that he had done, he was still the one, the only one, that she wanted, their relationship the only kind of bond she was longing for. And she hated herself for it. Hated herself for being so utterly weak when it came to him.  
  
For still being so deeply in love with him after everything that had happened. But she could not help it, even though there was nothing she so desperately wanted to do as she wanted to get over him, to ban him from her mind like she had banned him from her life and to live on and to forget.  
  
Because it was not fair, having to feel like this.  
  
A few weeks prior, when she had found the annual invitation to the New Year's Eve fundraising festivities of the State's Attorney's office in her mailbox, she had actually already decided not to call him again. She was not ready for this, for a new relationship and for somebody else, and even if she were, he certainly would not have been her first choice. But when she had read that the host expected her answer on whether or not she would come on her own or bring a plus one, she just could not bear the thought of having to go alone.  
  
Alone. Just as she had been over the past eleven months. And just as she was now.  
  
She did not like it anymore, being on her own. She had never been one who could not stand the prospect of being alone with her thoughts, had always enjoyed having some time to herself and the feeling of independence that had usually come from it, but now, all she felt was lonely. _He_ had taken that away from her, too.  
  
The doorbell rang.  
  
Diane glanced at her wristwatch again and sighed one more time in annoyance. _9:16 pm._  
  
She had hardly ever been the one to be left waiting for the other within the three years of her marriage, knew that she could count the number of times in which it had happened on one hand. _He_ , however, had not been so lucky.  
  
No one could blame her for her inevitable late arrivals that could not have been prevented from time to time, it was one of the side effects of her profession. She had pondered for quite some time if this was one of the factors that had eventually led him into doing what he had done. The fact that her work needed to be her priority sometimes, because, no matter what, it would always remain her life's work, her legacy.  
  
But the thought of it, the unsuccessful search for an explanation to why it had had to be this way, on how this could have happened to them, it always pained her too much to concentrate on it for longer than the mere seconds she would grant herself for being weak. And so she pushed it aside again. At least for now.  
  
She rose from the couch, straightened her dress and ran her fingers through the wavy front parts of her blonde hair that she had carefully curled about forty-five minutes ago, before she left the living room behind and walked over to the entrance hall. She slipped into her high heels and her black coat, grabbed her purse and opened the door. She did not know why, but the thought of him stepping into her house in that particular way in which he went everywhere, as if it were his home and as though he belonged there, made her stomach twist uncomfortably, so she tried her best to avoid the situation completely.  
  
Opening the door, she was met by an overly confident smirk and a pair of almost lifeless looking brown eyes. It was as if they were not even bothering to try and reflect the warm ceiling light that met them from the inside of her house. Not a glimpse of emotion, not a single thing for her to read in them.  
  
"Hi, ready to go?", he asked. No apology for his late arrival. No comment, not a compliment about her appearance. Nothing.  
  
Just what she had expected. This was already off to a great start.  
  
Diane swallowed a groan and whatever sharp remark that had been threatening to escape her between her crimson red lips.  
  
"Sure.", she said almost monotonously. "Let's go."

  
...

  
_-9:54 pm-_

  
The ballroom was packed with women in fancy evening gowns and men in suits and ties. It smelled of pricy champagne and expensive perfume and the sweet combination caused her head to ache. The good cause of the evening was vaccinations for children in third world countries. There was a jazz band performing on the stage. Diane had never liked jazz.  
  
Robert Wilson's left hand was resting on her waist, as though it belonged there. As though it was up to him to decide that he could just place it there, on her body. His hand felt cold and stiff over the fabric of her tight, yet elegant dress, even though she knew that his hand was warm. She would not have been able to describe the feeling, even if she would have tried. She only knew that it made her feel uncomfortable.  
  
She should have just stayed home. She should not have forced herself into doing this. The thought of coming alone or spending the evening all by herself in the comfort of her loneliness had scared her, but right now, she would have preferred it greatly over having to be here with him, half listening to some pointless conversation he was having with someone from the democratic's committee, half trying to figure out what the fastest and most inconspicuous way of getting out of there was.  
  
The way in which he was showing her off, the way he seemed to be treating her as some kind of a begrudged and equally desired accessory on his side that was serving the purpose of making him look more powerful, more worthy of the envious side looks from his competitors, as though _he_ had been the one who had invited _her_ to accompany him to this event, rather than the other way around...  
  
She hated it. She hated everything about it.  
  
"... right, Diane?", his greasy voice suddenly pulled her out of her stage of numbness. There was something about the way he was saying her name that crossed her. He made it sound as though he himself had come up with the word, as if only he had the right to say it because it was his property.  
  
She blinked a few times and turned her head to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry?", she asked, furrowing her brows.  
  
Robert's eyes narrowed at her and she could not tell if he was being annoyed with her or if he was just having a hard time wrapping his narrow mind around the fact that for some people, the things he said were not the number one most interesting and groundbreaking matters in the whole wide world. But it was not like she really cared.  
  
"I said, that we are thankful to have been invited here and that we are really enjoying ourselves.", he said slowly in a low, almost harsh tone, as though she were a child that had done something forbidden and he was the parent, forcing her to apologize about her obvious mistake, teaching her manners and good social graces.  
  
Diane's eyebrows slowly rose up and seemingly out of nowhere, a loud and amused bubble of laughter escaped her throat.  
  
The two men were staring at her, their eyes widened in both shock and confusion and their dumbstruck expressions caused her to laugh even harder. Slowly, she brought her fingers to her lips, trying to stifle her sudden outburst of amusement.  
  
She noticed how his grip on her waist tightened, his fingertips digging through her dress into her side in a manner that almost seemed aggravated and Diane cleared her throat, still chuckling a little as she attempted to explain herself to the two men.  
  
"Excuse me, gentlemen, but I'm going to need to go to the bar to keep _enjoying myself_ in here."  
  
She shot them a slightly too wide smile, shook Robert's arm off of her and walked straight over to the other side of the ballroom into the direction of the bar to help herself to an overpriced glass of fine scotch. It was for a good cause, after all.

  
...

  
_-10:39 pm-_

  
He was the first man she had agreed to try and date ever since she had separated from her husband.  
  
It was times like these in which she found herself wondering whether or not it would be smarter and maybe more fulfilling to try and avoid the companionship of men once and for all. But then she always remembered that women also had a history of fucking her over, so maybe this was just life, as sad and as cynical as the thought was.  
  
People she had believed to be guilty had turned out to be good before. And people she had believed to be saints were actually not. It was the endless cycle of being disappointed by her own impressions of everyone around her.  
  
It was times like these in which she missed her best friend the most. It had been three years and almost five months since he had died, but Will would forever be irreplaceable to her.  
  
She needed him. She needed her friend, now more than she ever had before.  
  
She had friends, that was not the issue. She had always been extraverted and outgoing and outstandingly good at socializing. She was well-liked, but this was just different.  
  
None of her friends understood her like Will had. No one had ever listened to her the way he had and no one had cared for her like him. His death was another deep void in her life and she was struggling greatly with the thought of that nobody would ever be able to fill it again.  
  
Well, except for her husband. Of course, he had never been a replacement for Will per se, their bond had always been of an entirely different kind, but he had understood her in that certain way that she missed about her friend.  
  
But, after all, he was the one who had brought this all on. In the end, he was just another example for the people who had turned out not to be what she had thought. He was the one person of which this realization had hurt her the most. And it still hurt, even if she did not want to acknowledge it.  
  
She had not visited Will's grave for quite a while now and it was about time to do so again. She added it to her mental to-do list.  
  
Diane emptied the remainders in the crystal tumbler, swallowed the burning liquid and placed the empty glass on a metal tray that was carried by a bypassing waiter.  
  
It was warm and noisy in the room and by now she was four glasses of scotch in. She did not remember whether or not she had eaten since her lunch break and she also did not really care. But what she knew was that her head was starting to spin a little and she was craving a break from this shitshow anyway.  
  
"Excuse me, but I need some air. Surely, Robert here-" She paused and patted him on the shoulder. "-will keep you _incredibly_ entertained while I'm gone."  
  
Diane winked at her acquaintance Regina Styles, who she had briefly known ever since they had gone to law school together, wiggled herself out of Robert's strong grip on her waist and turned to step out into the garden area of the luxurious venue.  
  
The heavy door fell shut behind her and she was alone.  
  
It was quiet, nobody else was out there with her, which surprised her because she would have expected a handful of smokers to be here, too.  
  
She shook her head and breathed in deeply, the cold air of the December night filling her lungs as a thin layer of goosebumps spread on her skin and caused a shiver to run through her body.  
  
Her left side was aching a little with every deep breath that she took and it startled her for a moment. She ran her palm over the spot until she realized that this was were his fingers had been for the greater part of the evening.  
  
Diane stumbled backward, momentarily taken aback by the frosty cold mingling with the feeling of dizziness that the scotch she had been drinking made her experience, until her back hit the cool and hard stonewall of the building.  
  
Her front teeth scraped over her bottom lip and she inhaled again. Slowly and deeply while she tried to come up with a plausible excuse for leaving the event early. She needed to get out of here. This had been the most stupid idea and the direction in which Robert had guided the evening only manifested her decision of spending the rest of the night on her own. Somewhere far away from here. Somewhere far away from him.  
  
Migraines always made a good excuse. A migraine or a stomach ache. Of course, Robert would have to take her home, since he had been the one to drive them here in the first place and, realistically speaking, there was no way in which she would be able to get a cab at this hour on New Year's Eve. But it was still better than having to stay here with him for the rest of the night.  
  
Diane was just about to turn around and step back into the ballroom in order to excuse herself, when she heard the heavy door open and fall closed again with a relatively loud bang.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?", a dangerously crude voice shouted at her and she turned her head to the side to face him.  
  
His face was flushed and his jaw was clenched, gone was the boring and viewless guy she had believed him to be. But then again, just as someone, who had been very close to her at the time had told her once, _people were always more than one thing._  
  
Diane's eyes widened. "Robert, what-", she muttered.  
  
"You heard me!", his shouting interrupted her and he stalked closer to her.  
  
Closer. Too close. Practically trapping her between his body and the cold brick wall. She could see purple veins standing out on the skin on his neck and around his forehead. "You've been acting like a complete bitch for the whole evening now!"  
  
Diane's eyebrows shot up and her lips parted. "Excuse me?", she hissed, her eyes thinning dangerously, warning him not to go any further with where he was taking this.  
  
A warning that he chose to ignore.  
  
" _I_ did you the favor of coming here with you so that those people won't see what a pathetic biddy you are and _you_ go around and undermine me in front of them? Who the fuck do you think you are?" He was yelling and his face was so close to hers that she could feel every single word of his vibrating against her skin.  
  
Diane scoffed. "Well, _sorry_ , Robert, but I won't apologize for the fact that I'm not the twenty-year-old arm candy you want me to be. It's not my fault that you feel undermined and overpowered as soon as you meet a woman with an opinion. So, please, do tell me, who's the pathetic one out of the two of us!"  
  
She tilted her head and shot him a bitter smirk. And before she knew it, his palm soundly collided with her left cheek.  
  
The force of his move caused the back of her head to hit the brick wall behind her. The stinging pain that spread in her head made her feel vertiginous for a small moment and she needed to blink a few times before she could see him again.  
  
She did not know what she had been expecting. Maybe she had expected to find shock or some form of regret on his features, but she could not find either of those.  
  
"Fuck you.", he hissed, his eyes narrowing as he kept on watching her.  
  
Diane breathed in deeply and gathered her strength to push him away from her, her palms firmly pressing against his chest and she began to walk back towards the door with hasty steps. But she did not make it there before she felt his strong hand closing around her slim wrist, pulling hard, almost causing her to fall, and preventing her from leaving the garden area.  
  
She spun around and glared at him. "Let me go!", she hissed slowly, stressing every single syllable. But he did not, his grip on her wrist only tightening painfully, almost pulling a high-pitched whimper out of her, but she was certainly not about to give him that satisfaction.  
  
"Don't you tell anyone about this.", he said lowly, his voice like a tense whisper.  
  
"Robert.", she raised her voice, her chest rising and falling rapidly in the fast pace of her breathing. "Let me go. Now."  
  
"No."  
  
"If you won't let go of me _right now_ , I swear that I will scream so loudly that people inside are going to call the police." Her voice was shaky, too close to breaking, and she hated herself for it.  
  
His strong grip on her loosened in the slightest and she pulled away from him and left the garden area as fast as she could, not daring to look back in the fear of that it would slow her down.

  
...

  
_-11:04 pm-_

  
She was still staring at the little green telephone icon, postponing what she knew to be inevitable for her to do.  
  
It was the last thing she wanted and she cursed herself for being stupid and foolish enough to get herself into a situation like this one in the first place. But it did not change anything.  
  
And so the tip of her thumb finally hit the button and her shaky hand rose to press the cold surface of her cell phone display against her ear, a small clicking noise mingling with the first shrill beep tone as her earring collided with the glass.  
  
_One beep._  
  
Diane felt the knot in her throat tighten painfully. The streets were quiet and empty and the sound of her phone almost sounded as though the device was screaming into her ear.  
  
_Two beeps.  
_  
She closed her eyes for a second, but the feeling of, by now, unwelcomed lightheadedness caused her to open them again. Her heart was pounding furiously against her ribcage.  
  
_Three beeps.  
_  
She felt sick. Her lips parted and she felt the bottom one quivering as she ran her tongue over the dry, crimson red flesh, willing herself not to blink to keep the tears in her eyes from rolling down on her cheeks.  
  
_Four-  
_  
"Diane?"  
  
His voice, the familiar and long missed, almost forgotten tone, even though she would never be able to really forget it, made her feel as if it were cutting something inside of her into little pieces, shattering her into a lesser version of herself.  
  
He sounded surprised. Surprise that was impeding his gruff voice and she heard the small trace of hope in it that he could not hide from her.  
  
She pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes stinging because of the tears that were still captured in them.  
  
She had not heard his voice in two months. That had been the point at which he had stopped calling her any other day, stopped leaving voicemails behind when she would not answer his calls because even the prospect of talking to him just hurt so much more than she could bear.  
  
In the beginning, he had used to leave long voicemails, several of them on each day that would pass. The voice, so clearly his and yet so strangely distorted by the way it sounded on the phone and in the way it was affected by his emotions. Telling her how sorry he was. Begging her to call him back. Promising her his endless regret, his knowledge of how wrong his actions had been and of how much pain they, _he_ , had caused her. Exasperatedly trying to convince her of how much he loved her.  
  
The sad thing about this had always been that the word 'sorry' was sometimes just that. A word. Powerful at times, but not universally so. It could not always magically make every mistake disappear. 'Sorry' was not enough in this situation, no fitting bandage for the way he had injured her. 'Sorry' did not give her her husband, the man that was honest, the man she trusted, the man she loved, back. Saying it did not cause the man she had been missing so painfully much, every single minute since that moment in court eleven months ago, to suddenly reappear.  
  
Even though she wished it were that easy. Saying sorry, kissing the pain away and making up, returning to the way it had been before. But it did not work that way. And it would be foolish and naive to try and treat this as if this were any easier than it actually was because then neither of them would ever be able to get over it.  
  
His calls had eventually subsided to random voicemails in which he would awkwardly ask her how she was and finish the mostly silent recording by asking her to call him back, even though he already knew that she never would.  
  
She never did. Because there was nothing left for either of them to say. At least that was what she was trying to tell herself to make it easier, or at least a little less painful.  
She swallowed deeply.  
  
" _Kurt_.", she said softly, her thin voice about an octave higher than it usually was. And still, the syllable of his name rolled over her tongue smoothly, just as it always had. As though nothing had changed. What a bittersweet illusion it was. "Are..." She swallowed again, willing her fragile voice to keep from breaking. "Are you busy?"  
  
There was a small moment of silence, hitting her from his line.  
  
It was not fair and she knew it. Calling him like this was not fair. Not to him and not to her, not to either one of them. It could do no good, only cause even more damage and it was the most obvious proof of that the door between them that she wanted to be closed, had attempted and still was attempting to shut and lock, so badly, was actually still open. Maybe only by an inch, maybe still as wide as it had always been before. Not even she would have been able to state the extent of the open gap for certain at this point.  
  
She had pretended that the door was closed, but she had been kidding herself for the whole time and she knew it. And now, she was here, calling him for help, knowing that this would accomplish nothing further than to cause them even more pain, let them feel the loss of the other even more deeply and make everything just even more complicated than it already was.  
  
"I..."  
  
She could hear in his tone how much he was struggling. She could hear the way he was trying to analyze her voice for a hint, for guidance on how to react, and she could hear the extent to which she was hurting him by doing this. Hurting him by forcing him to talk to her, by creating a foundation for false hope.  
  
"No, I'm home. Why?"  
  
Diane gasped for air as a small sob threatened to escape her throat and her cold and numb fingertips pressed more firmly into her phone as she muttered her next words.  
  
"I need... I need your help." One of her brows furrowed and she swallowed again, her small voice thick with tears as she continued. "Would you come and pick me up? There, there are no cabs available and..." Before she could hold it back, a pained sob escaped her, causing her voice to break as she continued. "I don't know what to do."  
  
Her hot cheek was still stinging with pain in the sharp cold of the night. The effort she put into keeping herself from crying, from breaking down right here and right now, caused her pounding head to feel as if it were about to explode from the pressure.  
  
When he spoke again, something had changed and his voice was suddenly rushed and urging, his tone reflecting a different kind of nervousness than it previously had. She could hear background noises on his line, replacing the deafening silence from just moments before. "Diane, where are you? What happened?" The audible jingle of keys followed his questions.  
  
"I, I'm at the SA's office's fundraiser.", she breathed out heavily.  
  
"At The Palace Hotel?", he asked and Diane turned back to face the building, checking if he had come after her for the umpteenth time since she had left the venue. He had not and she inhaled a ragged breath.  
  
"Yes, I, I walked down the street... around the corner, because I-"  
  
_I was scared and didn't know if he was about to go after me._  
  
This had never happened to her before. She had always been lucky enough to date men that had at least never been violent towards her. There was no way of knowing how to react to this, what to expect to come after it... No way of knowing what to do.  
  
The shaky fingers of her free hand, cold as ice, stiff as though it actually belonged to someone else, ran through her silky blonde curls. Her mind felt trapped, as if it were being held hostage by the memories of the evening, desperately searching for a solution on what to say, what to do, but it failed to perform under the pressure, under the circumstances of pain and fear.  
  
"Diane, what's going o-"  
  
"Kurt, could you please come? _Please_." She pressed her lips together. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly and she did not doubt that he could hear her frantic breathing on his line.  
  
"Diane, you need to calm down, I'm starting the engine right now. Are you alone?"  
  
"Yes, I-"  
  
_I wasn't but now I am. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have done this.  
_  
"Kurt, I need your help."  
  
"Give me thirty minutes. Diane..." She could hear in his tone, in the way he said her name, how incredibly much he cared. And it made her feel so bad for pulling him into this, worse than she had ever felt before. "What happened?"  
  
"I just... Kurt, please come. Please. I don't... I can't..."  
  
"Shh, it's fine. Stay on the line with me, okay? I'm on my way. I'll be there soon."  
  
Diane nodded slowly and a single tear rolled down on her flushed skin, down on her stinging left cheek. "Okay.", she whispered.

  
...

  
_-11:31 pm-_

  
It took him about fifteen minutes to get there. He must have been driving at an insane speed level. The drive normally took about forty minutes.  
  
"I see you. I'm pulling over now."  
  
Diane nodded and a low beep tone informed her of that he had hung up.  
  
In a slow and shaky motion, she pulled the cell phone away from her ear. She spotted his dark and old truck driving towards her on the street and when he pulled over and jumped out of it, such great concern on his face that made him look so much older than he had when she had seen him for the last time, a new wave of hot tears shot into her eyes.  
  
Before she could have thought about putting her phone back into her purse, he had speeded over to her and pulled her into a tight and warm hug. His strong arms closed around her slim frame, his warmth covered her cold like a woolen blanket on a winter day and his scent, his familiar scent of wood and fire and aftershave and gunpowder, met her in the most intimate and equally hurtful way.  
  
She buried her face in his chest, in the fabric of his worn out jacket and a small sob escaped her as he pulled her a little closer to him. She remembered the jacket, remembered the long walks with Justice to which he had worn it, the fishing and hiking trips, the car rides to the airport when he had needed to leave town for a case, remembered how he had reluctantly put it on before she had forced him to step out of her house, out of her life, out of their marriage.  
  
It smelled of him and all of those memories, the good ones now even more painful to remember than the bad ones, because they represented all the things they had lost.  
  
He must have gotten anxious at some point about the way he had approached her and about the closeness he had instinctively sought out at the moment he had seen her, because, after only a few short seconds of their embrace, he pulled away again, his gaze searching for hers, his warm eyes reflecting his uncertainty.  
  
He had grown a beard. It looked good on him, she could see it now that she got the first semi-good look at him in the darkness of the city night. But something else on his face had changed, too. She could not say what it was, but it made him look tired, exhausted... unhappy, somehow.  
  
Diane brushed the tears off of her cheeks with the back of her hand, her fingers still wrapped around her cell phone, and her gaze left his. She would have broken underneath it if she had tried to hold it any longer.  
  
Kurt's lips parted and after a moment of silence, he spoke in a low and weak voice. "Di, what-"  
  
He stopped himself as he realized what he had said, instinctively, unconsciously, too trapped in his thoughts, enormously taken aback by her crying. In all the years he had known her, he had only seen her cry three times, one time in each year of their marriage.  
  
The first time had been on the day Will Gardner had been shot. The second time had been the day on which she had found out that she had presented false evidence in court on Cary Agos's trial. And the third time had been the day she had found out about his affair.  
  
But the sound of his old nickname for her, escaping his throat between his lips, was almost enough to make her tear up, sob out again.  
  
Diane bit down on her bottom lip and shook her head lightly, silently asking him not to finish his question. Kurt nodded, she could see the small movement out of the corner of her eye. Then he walked over to the door on the passenger's side of his truck, opened it for her and waited until she had climbed in and gotten settled on the seat.  
  
He closed the door, the loud bang it caused had her flinching as she buckled the seatbelt, trying not to think about how the inside of his car still smelled the same way as it always had, trying not to acknowledge that he still had the key chain in the form of Hillary Clinton's head on his set of car keys that she had given him about two years ago as a joke, trying to ignore the sight of the golden wedding band on his finger that she could see as he started the engine and trying not to look at its counterpart on her own slim digit as she folded her hands in her lap awkwardly.  
  
She swallowed hard and the surroundings in her sight began to blur again as she turned her gaze to the window on her side while he began to drive.

  
...

  
_-11:39 pm-_

  
She cleared her burning throat, carefully and as soundless as possible. Her tongue sneaked out between her parted lips and it moved to run its tip over the lower.  
  
She shot him a small side gaze. His eyes were fixated on the road, as though he was trying very hard not to let them wander over to her. He was driving faster than he should, whether it was because he wanted to get to her place before the fireworks began, or because he wanted this uncomfortably silent drive to come to an end as soon as possible, she did not know.  
  
It was almost comical, the fact that two people who had so many things left unsaid between, even though it was necessary for them to talk them through, could still sit here like that, not saying anything at all.  
  
"Thank you.", Diane whispered eventually, her voice still raspy. Her eyes were still laying on his profile even though she was trying to will herself to stop looking at him.  
  
His eyes suddenly left the streets and locked with hers, a pained expression in them and in the way one of his brows was furrowed. Seeing it sent an unwanted and misplaced feeling of guilt through her chest. He turned back to the road.  
  
"Don't thank me.", he said lowly, not having it in him to face her as he did.  
  
As much as he had hurt her, as much as knowing what he had done was still hurting her, she could not help it but feel sorry for him. Sorry for the fact that he seemed to think that his actions resulted in him being unworthy of her appreciation, her thankfulness and kind words of any form. It was hard on both of them to know that she had not forgiven him, but it was even harder that he could not forgive himself either.  
  
Her left hand was cold and shaky as it slowly moved over to his side, coming to rest on his warm right one that was wrapped around the gear switch between them. His gaze moved to her hand at first, momentarily captured by the sight of the golden ring that he had put on her finger almost four years ago, before it shot up to meet hers.  
  
The corner of his lips twitched sadly as he noticed the pools of tears that were swimming in her beautiful light blue eyes.  
  
"Thank you, Kurt.", she said a little more insistently, willing him to just take it. To place his guilt, his bad conscience aside for just this instant, so that she could do the same with hers.  
  
He took a deep, audible breath and nodded in the smallest movement of his head. "Of course.", he whispered throatily, moved his hand to give hers a small and gentle squeeze and looked back at the road.  
  
"And I'm sorry for calling you like that."  
  
He shook his head. "You shouldn't be... I'm glad you did."  
  
Lord knew what could have happened to her in the state she was in. He could not even try to imagine all the possibilities, the mere thought of them aggravated him to no ends.  
  
Kurt bit down on the inside of his cheek. Lord knew what had _already_ happened to her that had put her in this state in the first place. Of course, he could not force her to tell him, it was certainly not his place anymore, but the fact that she still had not said anything about it, had not explained anything at all, was enough for him to know that it had to have been bad.  
  
His knuckles took on a shade of pale white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.  
  
"No, I..." She swallowed and turned her gaze to the road, too, as she felt a single tear rolling down on her skin. "It's not fair and I know that.", she breathed out.  
  
She heard him shifting in his seat by the sounds of the fabric of his jacket that were created by his movements. And then she felt the back of his long fingers on her stinging cheek, stroking the irritated skin softly and affectionately.  
  
It did not hurt physically, but the soothing motion caused the knot in her throat to tighten, caused her heart to ache and left her feeling like it was about to burst.  
  
Her eyes fell closed, her eyelids forcing the salty tears out of her eyes and a small whimper escaped her through closed crimson red lips.  
  
They were husband and wife, not only on paper but in reality, too. The fact that neither of them had made an effort so far in filing a divorce over the cause of the eleven months of their separation, the fact that both of them had not had it in them to take off their wedding rings, those things only showed that neither of them was truly done with what they had had.  
  
They knew that they were still in love with each other and they knew that the other one felt the same. It had almost been a year and while so many things had drastically changed, it also seemed as though nothing had changed at all.  
  
Neither of them knew how to deal with this. They were two adults, so very clearly still incredibly deep in love with each other, still wanting to be together and both suffering in their own but equally painful way because of what this situation had done and was still doing to them.  
  
Love was a strange thing.  
  
It made knowing the difference between what was right and wrong so much more difficult.

  
...

  
_-11:50 pm-_

  
He pulled over and looked back over his shoulder before he turned into the driveway to her brownstone, parking his truck next to her black Cadillac.  
  
It felt so normal, so usual, as though this were a regular day from the time before, as though they had just been out for dinner and had arrived at home now, together after an eleven-month-long day.  
  
As though they would go inside now, take off their coats and shoes, open a bottle of wine or scotch and chat together on the couch before they would head upstairs and make love before they would go to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms, their legs entwined, skin on skin, mumbling sleepy _'I love you'_ s into the other's ear and dreaming peaceful dreams before they would wake up in the morning, finding themselves in their intimate embrace.  
  
It felt so normal. Oh, what a vicious and hurtful trick of their minds.  
  
Kurt killed off the engine, sighed deeply and turned his head to look at her.  
  
His eyes looked dark in the lack of light of the night. The bags beneath them stood out because of the shadows that the darkness was casting on his handsome features. He looked aged and exhausted, both physically and emotionally.  
  
It had been an odd night.  
  
"You gonna be alright?", he asked softly, his low voice and the way he cared warming the inside of the car.  
  
Diane nodded slowly and attempted to give him a small smile in the hope that it would make her seem more convincing. She knew that he did not believe her, could tell by the way he narrowed his eyes. He knew her too well, inside and out, through and through, could read her as if she were his favorite book. He knew each letter of every page, carefully and cautiously placed to words like the little things she did unconsciously that built her mannerisms and her character, eventually forming phrases, sentences, chapters, traits.  
  
He had been loving her long enough to be able to tell when she was being dishonest.  
  
But it was not his place anymore to push, to dig in deeper, to make her tell him the truth, or, to be fair, to even care at all. And so he nodded once, pressing his lips together to keep himself from calling her out on her lie and looked away, as though he could not bear the thought of having to watch her walk away from him again, like he had had to on that one day in court. That one day, that had changed them forever.  
  
"Please call me, whenever-" He paused and pressed his eyes shut for a small moment, his hand shooting up to scratch a small spot behind his ear. "... whenever I can help you, okay?"  
  
She was aware that he had intended to say _"whenever you need me"_ , but had thought better of it.  
  
It was strange how in a situation like theirs, a good-hearted offer like his could seem like he was asking a lot from her by even offering it in the first place. As though he was the one who was supposed to be thankful in case she would accept his help, in case she would let him do something for her, and not the other way around. As though she did not owe him the slightest trace of thankfulness when he would do something for her, as the result, the aftermath of what he had done.  
  
Diane nodded again. "Okay.", she whispered. "And thank you again, Kurt."  
  
"Don't-", he began but stopped himself again, shook his head and forced himself to look at her and give her a small smile that never reached his eyes. "Sure."  
  
Diane pressed her lips together and looked away, no longer able to take in the way he was looking at her.  
  
His eyes had always been telling. He had the worst poker face imaginable, she had been mocking him about that a few times, back when they had still been in the position that had allowed them to mock each other. He had always been such an honest person, such a sincere and candid man, so that not even his eyes were able to betray. His eyes always let on the truth, especially to her.  
  
They had let her know that he was being honest when he had first told her that he loved her. They had left no space for any kind of welcomed doubt when he had looked at her from his place on the stand, when she had found out about his affair.  
  
Her questions, his confessions afterward in the privacy of their home had actually not been necessary. She had already known the truth at the time. Sometimes she felt like she had missed the point at which everything around her had turned to become a huge twist of irony.  
  
And the way he was looking at her now, with such regret, great concern, and such pure and naked and uncoated love, it was just too much.  
  
She turned and reached out to the handle of the door and before she knew what was happening, she had already turned back and closed her slim fingers around his forearm.  
  
"Would you like to stay?", the words bubbled out of her before she could stop them.  
  
His eyes widened and his lips parted as he stared at her in surprise for an uncomfortably long moment of silence, his expression probably matching hers as the weight of what she had just asked him collapsed on her like a landslide.  
  
Words could not just be made unsaid, just like action could not simply be made undone. They knew that better than anyone else.  
  
"I-", he began, his voice mirroring his uncertainty, making her feel utterly stupid. "Diane, I don't think that's for me to decide. I..." He shook his head. "I could use a little direction here."  
  
_He could use a little direction here._  
  
She did not think that it had been his intention to repeat the words he had said to her all those years ago at his barn, when she had kissed him and told him that she had been missing him after they had not seen each other for a year. She did not think that it was his intention to hurt her, but sometimes that fact did not make up for the damage one did anyway.  
  
Her hand left his arm and shot back into her lap. "I mean...", she began and if this whole situation had not been so utterly fucked up, it would almost have been funny, the way both of them were stumbling around their words, thinking every syllable and each following consequence of what they would say through, as though they were children, as though they were not better than that.  
  
"It's a forty-mile-drive, Kurt. And it's almost midnight, it wouldn't be smart to drive right now." She did not have it in her to tell him the real reason, even wondered whether or not he actually deserved to know it at all. That she did not want to be alone right now.  
  
Kurt's gaze dropped into his lap. "You don't owe me anything.", he mumbled lowly and Diane exhaled audibly.  
  
"I know."  
  
The silence took over again for a small moment.  
  
"So, are you coming, or what?", she eventually asked in a small voice, weakened by both nervousness and upcoming annoyance towards him.  
  
He shot her one last gaze, his eyes searching for hers, searching for the answer to what the right thing to do was.  
  
"Okay."

  
...

  
_-11:56 pm-_

  
It took her a while to unlock the front door. The frosty cold, the sharp wind that blew his scent over to her, the way he was watching her movements as he stood right behind her, patiently waiting for her to finish, all of those things left her hands shaking furiously.  
  
Eventually, the lock clicked and she pushed the door open, momentarily falling back into old patterns and stepping in before him, as though he was more than a guest. The realization caused her to blush and she did not dare to turn to face him for the moment, while he left it uncommented.  
  
She flicked on the light on her way in and heard him closing the door behind him. Her purse was placed on the small side table in the corner of her entrance hall, next to a vase of a variety of white flowers. He remained silent while they were simultaneously taking off their coats and shoes and she was beyond thankful for that he did not make some awkward comment about how little had changed about the place or something equally tactless and nonsensical as that, because they both knew that _everything_ had changed.  
  
Instead, he stepped to her side in order to take her coat from her to hang it up on the coatrack.  
  
But his movements froze as soon as he was able to face her.  
  
His eyes widened and his jaw dropped, shock suddenly plastered all over his face as though she had surprisedly done something outrageous. His grip on his jacket tightened and she could see the way his knuckles turned white as his fingers dug deeper and deeper into the rough suede material, forming a tight fist around it.  
  
Her gaze left his hand and wandered back to his, her lips parting. "What's wrong?", she asked in a small voice, unassured and a little taken aback by the sudden change in his expression.  
  
It looked as though her innocent words had snapped him out of some kind of a trance and the soft tone of her voice caused him to flinch. He blinked a few times, still staring at her as though she had just said something abstract, something absurd, something offensive, the motion looking like he was trying to regain his grip on reality.  
  
His jacket was dropped on the floor as he stepped closer to her. Almost too close for the more than uncomfortable state they were in on this instance. But that did not seem to cross his mind at the time.  
  
And then she saw it.  
  
As he stood so close to her, his face merely inches away from hers, as she had to look up to meet his gaze without her high heels on, she saw the tears that were suddenly shooting into his eyes, saw the way his cheeks blushed more and more the longer he kept staring at her. He took a ragged and audible breath, the air soundly getting caught in his throat.  
  
And when he spoke, it was as though he was using someone else's voice, a strange one, to express his words. Because the raw snarl that escaped him did not sound like anything she had ever heard before.  
  
It was slow and animalistic and thick with more rage than she had ever thought him to be capable of feeling.  
  
" _Who did this to you?_ "  
  
Diane's eyes widened and only now that his watery gaze found her blue orbs again, she noticed that it had been resting on her left cheek until now.  
  
She had not even thought about it. It did not even hurt anymore. The burning feeling of her skin had stopped sometime during their car ride and not for a single moment had she considered that the incident might have left a visible bruise on her.  
  
But she had obviously been mistaken about that. She swallowed hard.  
  
His body was shaking in front of her, his hands were curled up in tight fists and the flush of furious red on his face steadily increased as the seconds went by. She dropped her coat on the floor, lifting her hand in order to touch him, but resisting the urge, her arm dropping back to her sides.  
  
"Kurt, it's nothing.", she said softly, but her attempt to try and calm him went to waste.  
  
She had never seen him like this before. They had known each other for almost seven years and she had never seen him like this before. And right now it managed to scare the hell out of her.  
  
"Nothing?", he asked, his voice still raw and so low that it actually sounded dangerous at this point. But it was still better than the sudden yell that followed as he continued. "Are you out of your _fucking_ mind?"  
  
"Kurt, please-", she began in feigned calm, but his low voice interrupted her.  
  
"Oh my god, I'm so stupid.", he mumbled to himself rather than to her. "I should've known. I mean, what else could have gotten you so upset?"  
  
Her brows formed a small frown and one corner of her lips twitched momentarily as she unsuccessfully tried to shoot him a small smile. "Please, don't worry about it. It's not that bad, I'm fine now."  
  
His watery eyes suddenly narrowed dangerously at her as he took in her words. "Wh-, are you kidding me?", he exclaimed, raising his voice again. "You're trying to tell me that you're fine? What the fuck, Diane? You've just been beaten up, how the hell am I supposed to NOT worry about this?"  
  
"Kurt, stop it!", she warned him, raising her voice insistently. "Just stop, it probably looks worse than it actually is."  
  
"Diane, I can count fingerprints on your cheek!", he yelled back at her. "You're gonna tell me who did this to you, _right now!_ "  
  
"No!", she cried out. "You need to calm down!"  
  
"I will _not_ calm down!" He paused, forcing himself to stop this momentarily and taking a few deep breaths. His jaw visibly tensed before he continued in a lower volume but in an equally harsh tone. "Tell me, Diane."  
  
"Kurt, I won't tell you _anything_ until you've calmed down."  
  
She had never been so scared of him before. Never. The pure rage, like fire, lighting up his green eyes, the plain fury disguising his familiar features. He looked ready to kill.  
  
They continued to stare at each other for a few moments of silence, the air between them as tense and as thick as it had only been at one single instance before.  
  
Suddenly, a loud cascade of bangs caused both of them to flinch without breaking their eye-contact.  
  
It was midnight. The fireworks had started.  
  
And out of nowhere, Kurt seized the moment and rushed past her, storming into the direction of the front door.  
  
"Kurt!", she screamed out and grabbed his wrist from behind. But the mere assumption that she would be able to overpower him was almost ridiculous. "Kurt, don't!"  
  
He spun back around to face her and shot her a dark look. "No! Whoever did this to you is going to pay!"  
  
"Kurt, it's not your place-", she began, only to be interrupted by his shouting.  
  
"Yes, it is my place! I won't let anyone get away with doing that to you!"  
  
"No, listen to me! He's not-"

"Diane, I don't fucking care who he is or what he does! I don't give a shit if he's an important client, or a potential one, or your new boyfriend or a colleague or whoever! He could be the damn president for all I care! All that matters is that he hit you and that I won't be treating this as anything less than that, like you are! I'll be damned if I let anyone hurt you and get away with it like that!"  
  
Her grasp on him had loosened unconsciously. Her sight was blinded by the tears that had formed in her eyes. It was easy for him now to shrug her hand off of his wrist and to turn back towards the door again.  
  
And she knew that at this moment, there was only one thing left for her to do that could cause him to stay.  
  
She did not want to do it. It would break his heart, _she_ would break his heart, but it was the only chance she had.  
  
"Like what?" Her voice was thin, high from the tears, shaky from the attempt of keeping a deep sob from escaping her. "Like you did when _you_ hurt me?"  
  
It was silent.  
  
The only audible sound in the house was that of the fireworks exploding outside into the sky, as though the world was facing its end.  
  
Kurt's body was frozen. He was standing motionlessly in the entrance hall, a few feet across from her, still facing the other way.  
  
Diane pressed her lips together and quickly covered them with her palm, trying to muffle the deep, throaty sob that she could not hold back anymore.  
  
She knew that she should not have felt bad about this, should not have been sorry for her words. She was right, what she had said was true. He was not in the position to play the hero, to try and save the damsel in distress, not in the right of calling someone out, punishing them for hurting her, considering the amount of pain _he_ had caused and was in fact still causing her. It was hypocritical and he must have known that, too. He was not stupid.  
  
She knew she should not have felt bad about this, because she did not have to sugarcoat the reality in order to protect his feelings, especially considering that _he_ had not given a single shit about her, had not spent the smallest thought on _her_ feelings when had slept with his student.  
  
She knew that she should not have felt bad about this because they had separated eleven months ago. It should not have concerned her how he was feeling, how he was hurting and to what amount he was suffering from this, because his actions had forced her to make this decision, forced her to hurt him in the way she just had.  
  
She should not have felt bad about this. She did not owe him anything anymore.  
  
But she did anyway. Because his pain was hitting her as though it were her own. Because seeing him in tears forced her to cry, too. Because his struggle was hers. Because, no matter how big they messed up, he would always be Kurt and she would always be Diane. And because she was still in love with him.  
  
She had never, not for a single moment, stopped loving him. And somehow, this fact made her feel equally bad for both of them. Bad for him, because he was trying to make up for his mistake so badly, but was not forgiven. Bad for her, because she was so torn between wanting to hate him for what he had done, for everything he had destroyed, for the way he had hurt her, wanting to finally be able to move on, and at the same time, wanting to forgive him, urging to be able to forget this, to look past his mistake so badly and to be able to let herself love him again without feeling weak and bad for still loving him in the first place.  
  
The mixture of a gasp and another forceful sob escaped her against her palm.  
  
She could not see anymore with the salty tears that kept on forcing themselves into her eyes and eventually out of them, rolling down on her cheeks like a rain shower on a fall day.  
  
She stumbled backward until her back collided with the nearest wall. Her free hand landed beneath her chest as the sorrow, the pain and the deep sadness kept on flooding out of her, now that the dam had finally collapsed.  
  
She did not even know what she was hoping for anymore. Maybe it would be easier if he would just leave because then she could at least try to pretend that he did not care about her anymore and it would make it easier to eventually let him go. Maybe it would be better to be comforted by him now. She was clueless, had reached a point at which she could not even figure out what she wanted anymore.  
  
Another sob sneaked out of her before she suddenly heard a soft mutter, a whisper as low and as broken as she would sound if she would have attempted to speak right now.  
  
"I'm sorry. Diane, I'm so sorry." He was so close, she could almost feel his lips, the stubbles of his beard brushing against her ear. He was not touching her, did not dare to try and do so, but she knew without needing to check, that his hands were ghosting over her upper arms, one inch of air parting each of his fingers and palms from the smooth red material that was covering her skin.  
  
Her hand left her lips and she brushed it carefully over her eyes before they could find his.  
  
He was crying. It was a rare sight. Small wet trails, starting in his eyes, and ending in the grey hair of his beard.  
  
"I'm so sorry.", he whispered again and she watched as a new wave of tears filled his eyes.  
  
He was sorry. It did not make it hurt any less. But it was good to hear it anyways, just for the sake of knowing that he cared.  
  
"I didn't mean that.", Diane breathed out. Her brows were furrowed and her one hand was still resting beneath her chest. "I was just scared that you would leave."  
  
_I had to hurt you in order to protect you._  
  
Kurt nodded slowly, his pained expression still etched all over his face. But he believed her, even though he did not believe it himself. But for now, that would have to be enough.  
  
The fireworks outside were still thundering on the skies. His hands were still at her sides, stuck somewhere between touching and not touching her arms.  
  
She did not know whether it was weak or brave. But when she leaned forward, when her hand left the fabric of her dress to find the one of his flannel button-up, when she buried her face in the curve between his neck and shoulder, when she closed her eyes and breathed in his scent as he wrapped his arms around her to pull her closer and tilted his head to breathe in the flowery smell of her hair...  
  
She knew then that it was right. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not forever. But for tonight, for this moment, it was right.


End file.
